


honey don't feed me, I will come back

by Flowerparrish, hawksonfire



Category: Marvel
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Greek Mythology AU, Hades and Persephone AU, M/M, More tags to be added, WinterHawk Big Bang
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:53:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27179516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flowerparrish/pseuds/Flowerparrish, https://archiveofourown.org/users/hawksonfire/pseuds/hawksonfire
Summary: Bucky has sacrificed all of his biscuits to the dog at this point, and it’s not like he set out to have an adventure anyway. He knows he doesn’t need to eat regularly—that’s not the point. He’s hungry, and the fruit before him looks luscious and bright as anything Bucky might grow himself.He picks up a pomegranate and splits it open easily with his knife. The seeds are bright red and he can almost feel how nice they’ll taste.Two things happen at once.Bucky extracts a handful of seeds and pops them in his mouth, chewing and swallowing, and someone from behind him says, “Hey, wait, don’t—oh, fuck, this isn’t gonna be good.”
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Comments: 43
Kudos: 145
Collections: Winterhawk Big Bang 2020





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cheermione](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cheermione/gifts).
  * Inspired by [[art] Honey Don't Feed Me, I Will Come Back](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27179338) by [Cheermione](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cheermione/pseuds/Cheermione). 



> **hawksonfire:** Friends! Greeks! Countryfellows! It's here! I will freely admit that I am a massive slut for Greek mythology (it's literally what I went to school for) and I am also a massive slut for winterhawk, so a chance to combine the two? Sign me up! I'm so excited for you to read this fic that Flowerparrish and I worked on together, and I really hope you enjoy it! Thanks to the WHBB mods for putting this event together, thanks to Flowerparrish for putting up with my consistent and nonstop rambling about Greek myth, and thanks to Cheermione for creating a gorgeous piece of art to go with this fic! Enjoy!
> 
>  **Flowerparrish:** Thank you to Arson for wanting to co-write a fic with me. We may both be disasters as humans, but you're my favorite human disaster. Thank you to Cheer for making the COOLEST art for this fic, too! Endlessly awed and grateful.
> 
> Check out Cheermione's amazing art on Ao3 by clicking the inspired by link!

Bucky likes exploring. He’s been told, more than once, that it’s going to get him in trouble one day. The gods don’t always take kindly to trespassing on land they consider theirs, after all, and Bucky can’t get out of everything by simply name-dropping his powerful parents and friends. Besides, name-dropping his moms is embarrassing, and name-dropping Steve is somehow worse. Like,  _ of course  _ Bucky, a minor god, has somehow befriended the god of the sea. He’s as surprised as everyone else is.

He thinks it might have something to do with the way he calls Steve out on his shit, which must be refreshing. Bucky may be the god of vegetation and be associated with good harvests like his mother, but that doesn’t mean he’s got a flowery personality.

It’s not that far off from taking care of plants, anyway. You have to prune away the overgrown or inconvenient bits to help the whole plant stay healthy. Or, in the case of Steve, you sometimes have to call him out or needle him and remind him he might be  _ all that,  _ but he’s also just a guy.

But today Steve’s busy and Bucky’s bored, and he doesn’t want to stay where he’s supposed to in the nice fields around where he and his mothers live. So he sneaks off to the nearby mountains, finding caves to scavenge.

He senses the moment he takes one step and ends up somewhere completely else; he whirls around, but he can’t see the cave’s entrance even though it should be just in sight. It is—or  _ was— _ the middle of the day, so the sun can’t have gone down.

Bucky’s in trouble… but if he can’t go back, he might as well go forward.

He sets off into the dark, just able to make out the shape of walls and obstacles in his path.

He walks for no longer than half an hour, and then an opening appears before him. There’s more light, and there’s also a  _ dog. _

Well, okay, “dog” might be an understatement. There’s a three-headed monster of a dog that probably couldn’t kill Bucky but could definitely maim him, and he should absolutely turn around.

He should.

He doesn’t.

Part of that is that it’s dark and cool here, in a way he’s never really experienced.

Part of it is that he really wants to see if the three-headed monster dog will allow itself to be pet.

“Hey,” Bucky says softly to it. “I’m Persephone.” He doesn’t go by his actual name very often—mostly only when he’s in trouble—but there’s power in given names and he doesn’t want the dog to sense his nickname and think it a lie.

The dog leans one large head down and Bucky offers it a hand to sniff, praying silently to no one in particular that it doesn’t decide his offered hand is a snack.

The dog, thankfully, does not eat his hand. Instead, it sniffs curiously and then licks up the length of Bucky’s arm with a massive tongue, and then looks at Bucky pointedly.

“What--?” he starts to ask, and then he blurts, “Oh!” as he remembers the biscuit in his pocket. He pulls it out and offers it to the dog, who gingerly takes it from Bucky’s palm with careful teeth. The teeth themselves are bigger than Bucky’s fingers, but the care the dog uses means that Bucky doesn’t bother being afraid.

The two other heads turn on Bucky, gazes intent, eyes pleading. He sighs but digs out another biscuit, breaking this one in half and offering a piece to each head.

When he ventures further into this strange place a few minutes later, the dog has abandoned its post to follow Bucky. Apparently he doesn’t want to miss out on any more biscuit pieces. Bucky can’t complain; he’s always wanted an adventure, to explore, and he gets in enough mischief as it is, but there’s something about this place that makes him feel a little more confident in his exploration knowing the dog will likely protect him.

No one warned Bucky that adventuring is kind of boring, though. Or at least this adventure is. He finds some fields, and he walks past people who don’t respond much to anything he says, so he eventually gives up on speaking to anyone and just keeps walking. 

Finally, the fields end--seriously, if he’d wanted endless fields, he would have just stayed at home--but now everything is bright and there’s strange looking plants growing on the walls, vines and ivy and a few scattered weeds that shouldn’t grow out of stone but somehow  _ do.  _

He sees a doorway, ducks into a garden, and finds fruit trees amidst other strange looking flowers he’s never seen before. 

Bucky has sacrificed all of his biscuits to the dog at this point, and it’s not like he set  _ out  _ to have an adventure anyway. He knows he doesn’t need to eat regularly—that’s not the point. He’s  _ hungry,  _ and the fruit before him looks luscious and bright as anything Bucky might grow himself.

He picks up a pomegranate and splits it open easily with his knife. The seeds are bright red and he can almost  _ feel  _ how nice they’ll taste.

Two things happen at once.

Bucky extracts a handful of seeds and pops them in his mouth, chewing and swallowing, and someone from behind him says, “Hey, wait, don’t—oh, fuck, this isn’t gonna be good.”

* * *

“- and the total tally of souls entered this day is -” The rest of the daily report fades into a dull buzz as Clint tunes it out, eyes gazing aimlessly at the other end of the room. He can steal Lucky right? He’s technically the boss, so it’s not really stealing. Besides, he misses his dog. Stupid rules. “-thing else, my lord?”

Clint snaps back to attention. “No, that’s all.” The harpy bobs her head at him and backs away, keeping her eyes down until the door closes and blocks her from view, and Clint is left alone in the throne room. As usual. 

“I’ll break you out of here if you can tell me the daily tally,” a voice says, amused. A grin breaks out across Clint’s face as Pietro comes into view, pushing off a pillar along the side of the room. 

“Is it technically breaking out if I own the place?” Clint asks. He meets Pietro halfway, in the middle of the room, and reaches out to him. He manages a half-second hug and a ruffle of the kid’s hair before Pietro squirms away, grumbling like he doesn’t actually love it. “What brings you here, my lord Hermes?” Clint asks dramatically.

Pietro scoffs, shoves him sideways. “Fuck off, you’re older than me. If anyone should be saying my Lord, it’s me.”

Clint rolls his eyes. “The only one who puts up with that shit less than you is me.” He slings an arm around Pietro’s shoulder, stubbornly resisting the boy’s efforts to toss him off. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“What, can’t a guy just pop by the realm of the dead and speak to the lord of the underworld?” Pietro jokes. Clint lifts an eyebrow and Pietro sighs. “Fine,” he says. “I have a message for you.”

“Iris busy or something?” Clint jokes.

“Or something,” Pietro says. “Zeus wants to talk about the Judges again.”

Clint rolls his eyes. “I’m not making the whole panel children of Zeus, that’s totally unfair. Also, those kids are mostly assholes.”

Pietro punches him. “Oy! Did you forget I’m one of those assholes?”

“No,” Clint responds, dodging Pietro’s next punch. “How could I forget when ‘asshole’ is pretty much your primary personality trait?” He laughs at the expression on Pietro’s face. The two of them spend the next hour or so talking, catching up on everything they’ve missed while they’ve been apart. Clint doesn’t leave the Underworld much, but it isn’t because he doesn’t want to. Usually it’s because everything is happening all the time, and if he leaves for even a second the whole damn place will explode, so. It’s a good enough reason, he thinks.

But eventually Pietro leaves, after promising that he’ll bring Wanda by sometime soon, and Clint is left to wander the endless plains of the Asphodel Fields, much like the dead mortals he rules over. Difference between him and them is he can leave, and he knows who he is. Sometimes he wonders what it would be like, to bathe in the River Lethe and be reborn, but he’ll never go through with it.

No matter how lonely he is, or how bored he gets, he can’t imagine having his memories, his  _ self _ , stripped away until he’s a blank slate. Clint shudders at just the thought of that happening to him, can’t imagine undergoing something like that voluntarily. On the bright side, he’ll never have to go through it. 

He shakes his head to snap himself out of this mood and whistles, trying to call Lucky. “Lucky! Here, boy! Want to play fetch?” Lucky doesn’t come and Clint frowns. Lucky  _ always _ comes when he calls. “Lucky!” He calls again. Still nothing.

Clint moves through the Underworld for a bit, occasionally calling out Lucky’s name. Eventually, he makes it back to almost where he started and he still hasn’t found his dog. “Oh! Duh.” He smacks his forehead. “The garden, genius.” He heads towards the garden, grinning when he hears the sound of Lucky’s familiar bark. 

He passes through the garden’s entryway and sees Lucky up ahead. He opens his mouth to call out to him, and then he notices the figure standing in front of Lucky, looking at the pomegranates Kate planted. The figure reaches out and plucks a pomegranate off the tree, then splits it with a knife. Before Clint can stop him, they lift a piece of the fruit to their mouth.  “Hey, wait, don’t—oh, fuck, this isn’t gonna be good.”

The figure yelps and whips around, revealing themselves to be a man, shorter than Clint, with brown hair and blue-grey eyes. He lifts his knife and points it at Clint. “Who the hell are you?”

Clint lifts an eyebrow, smirking. “Who the hell am I? I’m the guy that lives here, who the hell are you?”

“Shit, you couldn’t have warned me?” the guy says to Lucky under his breath. “I’m Bucky. Persephone, if we’re being picky.”

Clint grins and whistles. Lucky bounds over to him and sits in front of him, tongue hanging out as he stares up at Clint happily. “Lucky’s a terrible guard dog.” He considers. “Except when he’s not. What are you doing in the Underworld, Bucky?” 

“Exploring,” Bucky says. “It’s different down here. Everything’s so...”

“Dead?” Clint offers. “This is the realm of the dead. Death and nothingness, as far as the eye can see.”

“Don’t say that! Dead things can be beautiful too, and besides, I don’t think Hades would take very kindly to you insulting his realm.” Bucky lifts an eyebrow at Clint, clearly thinking he’s got him beat.

Clint snorts. “Hades doesn’t give a damn what anyone says about his realm, and I would know.”

“Why? What are you, his butler or something?” Bucky asks. 

“Or something,” Clint says. “I’m Clint. Hades, if we’re being picky.” 

Bucky blinks. “You’re- this is- I am  _ so _ sorry, Lord Hades, I didn’t-”

Clint waves a hand, cutting Bucky off. “Save it. I really don’t care, and drop the ‘Lord Hades’ nonsense. Only one that calls me that is Pietro, and he only does it to piss me off.” He eyes Bucky, mouth still red from the fruit. “You do know what eating that means, right?”

Bucky looks down at the pomegranate. “No?” he says, looking back up at Clint with confusion written on his face.

Clint sighs. “It means you’re stuck here. For as many months as seeds you ate. I did it as a joke to stop Kate from stealing the damn things all the time, and since no one else ever comes down to visit, well...” He shrugs apologetically. 

Bucky stares at him, blood draining from his face rapidly. “I’m sorry, I’m  _ what _ ?!” Before Clint can answer, his eyes roll back in his head and he passes out. 

“Shit-” Clint leaps forward, catching Bucky in his arms. Looking down at him, Clint sighs. “Peggy’s going to kill me.”


	2. Chapter 2

Bucky wakes up with a headache that’s throbbing in his temple. That’s rare; usually one of the many perks of being a god, even a minor one, is not having to deal with the kind of bodily inconveniences that often plague the mortals. 

Then he hears his mother yelling in the other room, and suddenly the headache makes sense. 

He winces as her voice hits another octave deeper, foreboding. It’s the voice that reminds whoever has pissed her off that she might be the goddess of the harvest, but she’s also the goddess of life  _ and  _ death. That everything, everyone, dies sometime--and if you’ve wronged her, your time of death might be closer than you think. 

Bucky tries to think of who she could possibly be shouting at. As he does so, he opens his eyes, and, oh, huh, where is he? 

The room is dark and cool, and that feels familiar in an unfamiliar way. It takes him another moment longer to shake away the last vestiges of unconsciousness, and then it all comes rushing back. 

Exploring. The three-headed dog. The Underworld. Lord Hades. 

The fact that Bucky’s gotten himself stuck here by breaking his mother’s rules and being reckless and foolhardy, things that sound more like Steve--sorry, Poseidon--than  _ him.  _ (Okay, maybe that’s not always true, but at least in his own head, he can pretend, right?)

So that’s why his mother’s here, then, and why she’s yelling at someone. For a moment, he’s pathetically grateful that she’s not yelling at him (yet), but then he thinks of Hades--or Clint, he said to call him Clint--and his wry humor, his unexpected kindness, his distress at the situation Bucky ensnared himself in by not being cautious. 

He can’t leave Clint to face his mother’s wrath alone. It wouldn’t be right; and, if Bucky is going to be stuck here for a number of months--how many seeds did he eat? A handful, but how many was that? Five? Six?--then it would not bode well for any potential of friendship between them. 

Bucky sighs. Pushes to his feet, headache ebbing slightly as the yelling ticks down a notch for the moment. Makes his way out of the doorway and into a lit room. 

He looks around curiously. There’s a fireplace, warm and inviting. Chairs and chaises adorn the room, looking elegant and comfortable. There’s a desk in the corner with paperwork stacked high on one side and a quill and ink pot waiting to be used. 

It’s nice. It’s all so much nicer than he would have expected from, well, this place. 

And, of course, there’s Clint and his mother. Clint is lounging in one of the chaises, an arm thrown across his eyes as if he can hide from the rare wrath of Demeter. Peggy stands before him, her arms crossed, her eyes flashing with summer storms. 

Bucky clears his throat. “Hello, Mother,” he says, formal mostly for Clint’s benefit. He’s far from a child, but the reality of his situation is sinking in, and he almost wishes he could sit before her and feel her fingers comb through his long hair as she braided it into intricate designs. He hasn’t allowed her to do that except sparingly in the past decades, but in this moment, he longs for that comforting contact. 

She turns to him, and the storms in her gaze clear somewhat. They aren’t gone; Bucky knows better than to think that. This is merely the eye, a calm moment as she assesses him. “Hello, my darling,” she says, and there’s a curve to one corner of her mouth. It expresses both relief that he is hale and exasperation at his predicament. 

“Hello, Lord--I mean, Clint,” Bucky greets after a moment, when he can no longer endure the weight of his mother’s scrutiny. 

Clint pushes himself upright from his slouch, leaning forward and uncovering his face. “Hi, Bucky.” He seems remarkably well for someone who has been dealing with Bucky’s mother shouting for any length of time. 

“May I sit?” Bucky asks, hoping that if he does so, his mother might join him. 

“ ‘Course you can.” 

Bucky nods, picks a stuffed armchair, and curls up. He stares pointedly at Peggy until she sighs and sits in a chair of her own. “So…” Bucky starts, trying to break the silence that’s settling over them like a weight. “I’m really stuck here?” 

He’s a little embarrassed about passing out, but he thinks maybe he should get a pass on that. 

Clint must not agree, because his eyes are dancing with mirth when he looks at Bucky. He turns solemn once more after a moment, though, when he nods. “Yes. ‘Fraid so.” 

Bucky shrugs. “Okay.” He ignores his mother’s displeased sound, the beginnings of her protest, and asks instead, “What are the rules I should follow while I’m here?”

“Rules?”

“Yeah. Places I can go, places I can’t go. Things I should or shouldn’t do. If I can play with your very friendly dog. The rules.” 

Clint’s frowning now, but it seems more like he’s considering Bucky’s question than like he’s angry. Bucky hopes so, at least; he doesn’t get much experience reading new people. “Let me think. I’ll get back to you. For now, I can show you around?”

“Okay,” Bucky says again. He’s surprised by how  _ okay  _ this all feels. It’s far from ideal, but now that the shock and nerves are fading, he’s starting to get excited again. How many people, gods included, get to explore the underworld? Get to  _ live  _ there, even for such a short time as a few months? 

If this is an adventure, it’s only just beginning.

* * *

Peggy spends a  _ long _ time yelling at him. Everything from ‘ _ how could you let this happen _ ’ to ‘ _ aren’t you supposed to have a guard dog to stop exactly this kind of thing from happening _ ’ to ‘ _ what kind of idiot even leaves cursed fruit just hanging around anyway _ ’ - it’s that last one that Clint takes offense to. 

“Hey!” He says. “The only people who would have been affected by that fruit are Kate and Pietro, because they’re the only ones who come down here! And they both know better than to eat anything.” He takes a breath to calm himself down - he doesn’t want to yell. “What’s done is done, so let’s just make the best of it.”

Peggy sniffs. “Very well. How long must he stay?”

Clint shrugs. “How many seeds did he eat? Each seed means one month.”

They both turn to look at Bucky, curled up in the other armchair. He sits up straight as his mother’s gaze lands on him. “Six, I think,” he says. 

“Six months it is, then,” Peggy says. “I expect you back once that time has gone, Persephone.”

Bucky groans. “Mother, you  _ know _ I prefer Bucky.”

Peggy sniffs again. “Yes, well. Persephone is more distinguished. Goodbye, love.” She kisses his cheek and disappears, leaving a summer smelling gust of wind behind.

Clint looks at Bucky. “So.”

“So,” Bucky echoes. “You were going to show me around.”

“I did say that,” Clint nods. He gets up from his chair and extends a hand to Bucky, pulling him up. Clint’s not the best tour guide, on account of no one ever wants a tour, but he does his best as they walk around the palace. 

He’s in the middle of showing Bucky the room he’ll be staying in when Bucky interrupts him. “Am I allowed to leave the castle?” he asks.

Clint looks at him. “Are you - of course you’re allowed to leave the castle!” he exclaims. “I don’t want to keep you prisoner.” He winces. “Anymore than I already am.”

“I walked through this big field when I first got here,” Bucky says. “No one there would speak to me.”

Clint nods. He leads Bucky towards a balcony overlooking the rest of the Underworld. “Those were the Asphodel Fields. It’s where the mortals that were neither exceptionally good nor exceptionally bad go after they die. Most mortals end up there.”

“What about the ones that were good?” Bucky asks. “Where do they go?”

Clint nods towards a far off corner, bright with sunshine he can see even from here. “Elysium,” he responds. “Paradise.”

“Can we go see it?” Bucky asks, his face lighting up.

Clint hates to take that excitement away. “We can’t,” he says. “It’s mortals only, I’m afraid.”

Bucky pouts. “That doesn’t seem fair.”

Clint shrugs. “It’s just how it is.” He knows what question is coming next, and he really doesn’t want to answer it. Doesn’t want to replace the look of awe in Bucky’s eyes with one of disgust. “I don’t think I showed you the kitchens,” he says cheerfully. “We don’t technically need to eat, but I enjoy a good pizza every now and then. If there is one thing the mortals did right, it’s pizza.”

“What about the bad ones?” Bucky asks, grey eyes watching Clint closely.

“Hm?” Clint responds, playing dumb. 

“The bad mortals,” Bucky clarifies. “Where do they go?” 

Clint sighs, his shoulders drooping. “Tartarus,” he mutters, gesturing towards another far-off corner. This one has smoke rising above it, thick and black and ominous. “The bad ones go to Tartarus.” 

“What happens to them there?”

“They get tortured,” Clint says flatly. “For eternity. We can’t visit that one either.” He prepares himself for the inevitable horror from Bucky, the ‘ _ how can you do that to them _ ’ and the outrage, and resigns himself to being ignored and avoided for Bucky’s time here, and then-

“Well, if they were bad enough to end up in Tartarus, they probably deserve whatever they get,” Bucky says. He turns to look at Clint. “You said something about pizza?”

Clint blinks. “Uh. Yeah. Kitchens. Pizza. Sure.” He leads Bucky to the kitchens. “Pizza,” he tells the spirit at the oven. The spirit bobs its head at him and sets about making pizza.

“Who’s that?” Bucky asks, looking at the spirit curiously.

“That’s Ralph,” Clint says. “Ralph makes the best pizza.” 

“Hi Ralph,” Bucky says, waving. “I’m Bucky.” Ralph waves a spatula at Bucky. “Doesn’t talk much,” Bucky observes. 

“Most spirits don’t,” Clint says. “Ralph was a chef when he was alive, and the day he came down here I was hungry. So now he makes me pizza.”

“Does he only make pizza?” Bucky asks as he watches Ralph putter around the kitchen.

Clint shakes his head. “Nah. He can make pretty much anything, I just really like pizza. You can ask him to make other stuff, if you want. Do you eat?” He flushes. “That’s weird, I’m sorry. You don’t have to answer that.”

Bucky laughs. “It’s okay. I don’t have to, but sometimes I like to. Although, now I’m thinking that it’s more trouble than it’s worth.”

“I really am sorry about that,” Clint blurts. “No one ever comes down here except Kate and Pietro, and Kate loves those damn fruits. I just did it to annoy her, I didn’t think anyone else would ever eat them!”

Bucky turns to face him. “It’s okay,” he says. “Honestly, I was bored anyway. This will make a neat adventure, and I got a new friend out of it!” For a second, Clint thinks Bucky’s referring to him, and he gets this little glow of pride in his chest, but then Bucky grins playfully. “Lucky!” he calls, and a few seconds later, the three headed mutt comes skidding into the kitchen, panting and wagging his tail furiously. 

“Don’t -” Clint starts, but it’s too late. Ralph jerks upright and waves a wooden spoon around furiously, gesturing at Lucky. “I know, I’m sorry, I’ll get him out of here!” Clint says. He ushers Bucky and Lucky out of the kitchen. “Ralph doesn’t like animals in his kitchen,” he explains.

“Sorry, Ralph!” Bucky calls. He laughs as Lucky stands on his hind legs and puts his front paws on Bucky’s shoulders. 

“Easy, Lucky,” Clint says, snorting as Lucky’s three tongues slobber all over Bucky, knocking him to the ground. Bucky laughs as he hits the ground and starts rubbing Lucky’s tummy, cooing nonsense at him all the while. Looking at him, Clint’s stomach swoops. Maybe this wasn’t such a terrible thing after all.


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three months come, and three months go.

It’s pretty easy to get used to the new normal of being stuck in the Underworld--easier than it should be, Bucky thinks. 

Once Clint has assured him that he’s not a prisoner, that he can go pretty much anywhere he wants with just a few exceptions like Elysium, he finds it easy to take Clint at his word. He knows some gods are tricksters who would like nothing more than to see him caught in a trap, but Clint doesn’t seem to operate like that. He meets Bucky’s every formality with informal charm and warmth, and even if Bucky didn’t trust his impression of Hades, he knows his mother would never have left him here if she didn’t trust Clint, too. 

Demeter would have razed the Underworld out of existence if it meant protecting him, and damn the consequences. 

Bucky is definitely glad it didn’t come to that, though, in part because this place is  _ cool.  _

At first, he wanders the castle and nowhere else. He knows he’s not trapped--well, in the Underworld, yes, but not in the  _ castle-- _ and that removes some of his impatience to explore elsewhere. There’s plenty to see here anyway; it’s well-lit and the colors are light and airy and open in a complete contrast with what Bucky would have expected had he been asked to conjure up an image of this place. 

There’s rooms on rooms on rooms for every purpose Bucky could imagine. There’s something called a  _ bowling alley,  _ which he’s never seen before, but immediately upon discovery he excitedly decides he must learn to play. The friendly ghost who maintains that room--well, as much as it can be called a “room” when it’s so huge--explains the rules, the balls, the shoes (Bucky has been assured that the shoes are very important and, although he cannot fathom why, he’s far from an expert in this matter, unlike his new friend). 

Bucky watches  _ movies,  _ which until now he’d only ever heard about as something strange that mortals do, pretending to be other people and telling each other stories. It has always sounded silly, like some kind of a joke, when other gods talked about it; he watches one, though, and he  _ gets it.  _ He thinks Lord Hades--Clint--must understand as well, because he dedicated a whole space in his palace to them. 

There’s a pool, and Bucky is not surprised by this, but then there’s something called a  _ hot tub,  _ which is like a hot spring but contained and operated by some magic Bucky can’t divine and doesn’t understand. When you press a button, it makes bubbles, and Bucky is a bit more fascinated than he’d like to admit. 

So, yes, there’s plenty for Bucky to explore. He even pesters Clint into joining him sometimes, learns that Clint likes movies with explosions and is terrible at bowling and that when he sits in the hot tub, his whole being, essence included, relaxes in a way that makes Bucky aware of how tense he is otherwise. It’s an almost imperceptible difference, but Bucky is good at noticing small changes, something he attributes to his specialization. He may be the god of the seasons’ changes, but he thinks knowing change on such a large scale so intimately has transferable applications. 

All to say, he starts to notice that Clint is stressed  _ all the time.  _ His house is full of so many amazing things, and he barely spends any time enjoying them. 

Which, he’s busy. Bucky understands; Clint is no minor god like him; Clint, for all his ease and carefree attitude, is Lord of Death, and he takes his role very seriously. It’s a good quality, and Bucky almost feels selfish for wanting some of Clint’s attention to himself. 

Almost. 

But he sees the way Clint relaxes, over time, when it’s just the two of them and no work in sight. So he takes every opportunity so spend time with Clint that he can. First, he convinces Clint that sharing meals with him is expedient--more so than not, which results in Bucky pestering Clint to eat until he does, getting underfoot and in the way and generally being a nuisance. Then he starts carving out pockets of downtime, which is hard because they don’t sleep, and it appears that Clint might work non-stop if no one was around to stop him. 

Luckily, his friend Kate shows up and teaches Bucky some tricks. Clint can be lured away from work when he thinks it’s for someone else’s benefit; so eventually, Bucky gives in and tells the truth. 

He’s kind of lonely down here. Sure, Steve has visited a couple of times (and he laughed and  _ laughed  _ at the situation Bucky had gotten himself into) and his mother has a couple more times as well. But he’s used to having people around all the time. At first, it was definitely nice to have some quiet and space, but now that the first few weeks have passed… he misses spending time with people. His friends may number few, but they’re true, good friends, and he thinks he could count Clint among that number some day. 

So he admits that he’s lonely, and Clint immediately begins to carve out time to spend with Bucky, just like Kate implied he would. 

They walk Lucky through the Fields of Asphodel, and they eat way too much pizza, and Clint shows Bucky the few cool rooms he hadn’t yet found--something called paintball, one time, and an aquarium another. That one makes him miss Steve, and he leans in a little closer to Clint when he gets sad. Their arms brush, and he’s… a little less sad? 

So it’s good. It’s not home, but it’s a short span of months in the grand scheme of things, and by the third month Bucky is fairly sure he’s going to miss this place when his time here is over. 

Besides, who will look after Clint when he’s gone once more? 

He sleeps because he enjoys it, and he tries not to worry. Clint is the Lord of the Underworld, one of the most important gods. Surely he doesn’t need Bucky that much. He’s probably just playing along to make Bucky feel better. 

He pretends to himself that he’s convinced, even though with each passing day it feels more and more untrue.

* * *

Clint can’t remember what it was like before Bucky got here. Well, he  _ can, _ but he doesn’t want to. He  _ likes _ having Bucky around - he brings joy and happiness and company and noise to the palace, and all that was missing before.

Having Bucky here turned out to be a blessing in disguise. At first, Clint thought that Bucky would be mad at him for keeping those damn fruits around. And there was an adjustment period to be sure, but once Bucky realized that Clint never meant any harm, things became worlds easier between them.

There’s been a couple times where Clint has sensed another god in his domain - Steve, once, and Peggy, a couple times - but mostly it’s just him and Bucky. And, of course, Lucky. Honestly, Clint’s glad of that. Having other gods around means Clint would have to put on a show and be Hades, Lord of the Underworld.

With Bucky, he doesn’t have to do that. He can just be... Clint. Clint, who owns a dog and loves pizza and sucks at bowling. And he likes spending time with Bucky, doing all of those things. Walking Lucky, and eating pizza, and going bowling, and watching movies.

After three months, they’ve kind of ended up with a routine. Clint doesn’t really sleep, there’s too much to do, but Bucky does. He enjoys sleep, and Clint doesn’t want to begrudge Bucky anything he enjoys. So he’ll work through what passes for the night, and Bucky will sleep. In the morning, Ralph will make them coffee.

Bucky will bring it to Clint in his throne room and spend the next hour or so waking up while Clint listens to his Furies drone on about various realm-keeping business. His dry, half-asleep observations have Clint snickering almost immediately, and it’s really kind of funny how annoyed the Furies get.

They can’t say anything, of course, because Clint can and will reassign them to Tartarus if they do, but it’s funny to see them try and keep their cool. 

Once they’re done their coffee and Clint’s assigned his Furies their tasks for the day, they go to the kitchen for breakfast. Bucky’s got an obsession with mortal food; he wants to try every type of food, starting with breakfast. Clint  _ tried _ to tell him that it wasn’t possible, but Bucky pointed out that they don’t need to worry about their health or a mortal lifespan, so it would be possible if they wanted to try.

Ah, well. Ralph, at the very least, is enjoying the challenge.

After breakfast, whatever it happens to be, they spend the rest of their day doing any number of things. Movies, bowling, swimming... They even try archery once, just to see what Sam and Kate are fussing about. Bucky says that Clint’s really good, and the bow  _ feels _ good in his hands, but... He’s not the god of archery.

Lunch brings more food, and after lunch, they walk Lucky. Not that he needs it, really, but he enjoys it. And Bucky enjoys it, which is important. Clint finds himself watching Bucky on their walks, purely to make sure that he’s still enjoying his time in the Underworld and not coming to resent Clint for keeping him there.

That’s all it is, the only reason Clint watches him. What else could it be? It’s not the way Bucky’s whole face lights up when he smiles, it’s not the way his hair always smells like spring flowers, and it’s definitely not the way that Bucky’s shorter than him but still manages to fill up a room with the sheer force of his personality. Why would it be any of those things?

After their walk, they usually take an hour or so to themselves. Clint does still have Lord of the Underworld things to do after all, and no matter how much he wants to spend all his time with Bucky, he can’t slack off.

So he’ll take an hour, or two or three, to do his Lord of the Underworld stuff. Most of the time, Bucky has to come and get him for dinner, but looking up to see Bucky’s face peeking around the door is something Clint could get used to.

He dreads the day when Bucky has to leave for six months. Theoretically, he knows that Bucky doesn’t have to just vanish for six months, but there’s a little voice inside of him that whispers that Bucky’s faking, that he doesn’t actually like it down here, that as soon as he’s able, he’s going to disappear and never return, and Clint will be left only with Lucky and Ralph for company for the rest of eternity.

Not that that would be the worst thing, but Clint’s gotten so used to having Bucky around all the time, able to drop everything and go see him on a whim. The ability to do that is the best part of Clint’s day.

He’s honestly dreading the day that their six months will be up and Bucky will have to leave. He doesn’t know what he’s going to do with himself when that day comes, and he just hopes that Bucky won’t hate him too much once he has to come back down here after being in the world, surrounded by life and colour and joy for six months.

The time passes, and that day draws closer and closer, and Clint can’t help the way his mood gets worse and worse as it does. He tries to put on a bright face for Bucky, but he’s not so sure he succeeds.

And then, it arrives.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[art] Honey Don't Feed Me, I Will Come Back](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27179338) by [Cheermione](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cheermione/pseuds/Cheermione)




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